


you and me

by singitagain



Series: Wavelength [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Affection, Consensual, Creampie, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Porn with Feelings, Slightly Drunk!wald, Softwald, bottom!wald, dark!ed commentary, mayorpot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 05:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16298867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singitagain/pseuds/singitagain
Summary: He's inside Oswald Cobblepot.(An add-on to the fic 'wrapped around your finger'. Not essential, but probably more satisfying to read 'em together. )





	you and me

Ed wets his lips, looking for a sign. Because even when Oswald turns his lust-drugged eyes on him and nods, a look that raises the hairs on the back of his neck in a single tingling sweep, it doesn't feel like a sure thing, no fault of his own.

Fingers are fingers; narrow, familiar. A whole world of difference from an assful of swollen cock. Oswald had felt big enough for a man of modest size, but Ed supposes it's just the nature of it, that everything will always feel bigger than it looks.

So he's not shocked when he pushes in, hot and eager, and only makes it head-deep before Oswald gasps and locks up. Not that it's any easier to stop, because nothing comes to a perfect standstill even when he does. It's unfair, maddening, the way Oswald's body hugs his cock and squeezes in a struggle both to relax and to resist him. Ed can't help but stare at him, at that little ass spread around him.

"Breathe, Oswald," Ed reminds him, smoothing his hand up and down Oswald's leg and the feeling the rippling flex of his thigh. "Don't panic."

It's not very good advice, he realizes, knowing that second sphincter up anyone's ass was the one with a mind of its own. But Ed has the sense to leave the scientific facts out this time around, a little surprised when Oswald doesn't snap or challenge him. He's too deep in his own head for that, maybe, while taking quick snatches of breath and working to calm to spasms in his guts, his eyes screwing shut.

"Okay..." Oswald rasps back, after what feels like a long time.

"It's going to sting a little. Just... try not to think about it." 

Oswald cracks open his eyes and shoots him a look suggesting he'd have a much easier time swinging up off the desk and reaching to slap him in the jaw. He doesn't try it.

There's no give and no way around _popping_ through that second ring of muscle and Oswald jerks, a strangled whine slipping out before he can fist his hand and press it to his mouth. His sides are heaving, his ribs tight, sharp, against his skin.

"There..." Ed pants. "Sorry." He offers, lamely. Fresh sweat glitters at Oswald's hairline, along his breastbone, and Ed wants to kiss it away, to taste the salty tang of him.

"You'll be happy to know that that was the hardest part. It gets better. ...I promise."

Oswald doesn't fight him on that or his choice of words either, strangely enough, leaving them tense and trembling in silence. He chews his lip, encouraged by the slow-softening stretch of Oswald's hole.

"Should I... keep going?" He offers Oswald a careful smile, one he hopes looks passably sympathetic while his whole body throbs, while he shifts and wets his lips and hopes, with every desperate fibre of his being, for Oswald to surprise him. Everybody wants what they wants, he reminds himself. Everybody's selfish. It's human nature - and Oswald would surely want the same thing in his position, feel he deserved as much for his patience and his effort.

"...Just, do it!" Oswald hisses, finally, with an intensity Ed is all too familiar with, and one that still strains his smile.

He swallows. Quiet as the sting of it sinks in.

He can't tell if it's resignation or annoyance that he's hearing. But then pain has always sharpened Oswald's edges; he knows that, having cut himself on them often enough. And he also knows Oswald lived with plenty of that pain, so fiercely productive anyway that Ed can almost forget how much he's hurting until he catches Oswald unrolling his diabetic socks at the end of the day, when Oswald doesn't know he's looking, and sees his face go tight as he kneads the twisting bones running down to his ankle.

Ed sucks in a breath.

It's still permission, whatever it is. A yes is a yes is a yes. And he wills himself to leave it at that, to take Oswald as he is and let go as he sinks into him, slow and focused. As Oswald bites down on his knuckle, whimpering brokenly around it, as he keeps going, inch by fucking inch, watching his ass swallow him up.

Ed's eyes close, mouth slipping open.

Luxurious doesn't scratch the tip of the iceberg. It's like nothing else, the raw, gritty heat of him, the way Oswald squirms and squeezes deliciously around the root of his cock - and Ed can't think, can't talk, groaning from somewhere deep inside himself when he finally bottoms out and comes to rest, balls-deep, in Oswald's ass. It's not a seamless fit, tighter on one end than it is at the other. But it's enough, more than enough, rattling his breath in his throat.

He's inside Oswald Cobblepot.

He's inside Oswald Cobblepot, throbbing in the grip of insides more delicate than they have any right to be, and it takes more out of Ed that it should to wait and let Oswald adjust, to keep from swinging his hips back and gouging into him. He adjusts his sweaty grip on Oswald's legs, swallowing. He doesn't ask - just moves, bucks and opens him up with the first careful, shallow thrust and then the next, pushing a moan from Oswald's lips.

Oswald lolls his head back, hiding behind his hands. "...oh..." His breath catches thickly. "Oh my god..."

Ed did his research, of course. Grasped the mechanics of it, the science that made this what it was. More nerve endings and more contact equaled a greater potential for pleasure; a simple formula. But numbers and facts are only half of it - and he understands it now, really understands how incredible it is to fill him, to feel him from the inside.

His mind whites out.

And the craziness of it gets to Oswald too, because he breaks into a giddy, giggling laugh partway through, helpless to stop. Ed doesn't question it, doesn't miss a beat, fucking all the laughter out of him until Oswald's twisting and curling his toes, sobbing for air.

He's being so good, _feels_ so good speared on his cock and taking the sweet sting of every stroke with that wrung-out, pleading look on his face he wears so well - and it's killing Ed, all of it. The heat and the pressure, the cramping in his balls as he watches himself plunge in and out of Oswald's ass, his rim slick and stretched, dragging on him.

The Other Ed steps up from behind him, hands behind his back. He looks down at Oswald with a pitying head tilt, though the slant to his lips tells a different story.

( _Now there's an ass that won't quit. Worth the wait, I bet._ ) He chuckles, turning his head to watch a bead of sweat drip down Ed's temple. ( _C'mon, Eddie, let me try him out._ )

Ed clenches his jaw. He snaps his hips harder, hungrier, into the springiness of Oswald's ass, skin slapping skin. 

Oswald keens, arching his back off the desk.

( _You know I'll show him a better time than you ever could. No holding back. He'll like it - promise. Plus I'd definitely last longer than, what..._ \--) he glances to his watch, stunned. ( _\--Three minutes? ...Are you serious?_ )

"Go. Away." Ed grits out under his breath, under the soft, broken noises and sighs he's wrenching out of Oswald, shutting his eyes so tight he can see stars. 

The other Ed is right about one thing. Though Ed doesn't realize just how badly he's misjudged his own stamina until he feels himself heave and shudder and pump ropes of come into Oswald's guts, hit with a relief so pure he could cry. 

Oswald starts with a gasp, the both of them staring blankly into each others' faces.

Ed blinks at him, refocusing. His mouth hangs open.

'...o-oh," he pants out.

It'd be a lie if he said he weren't a little horrified. 

But it'd be even more of one if he looked down at himself, at their quivering bodies jammed together, and pretended he didn't feel dizzy-drunk on triumph, on the conquest. Oswald's his, has been his for a while. Now he's laid his claim, sealed it.

The other Ed is gone; comes and goes when it's convenient for him. All that's left is Ed and Oswald and a thickness in the air that owes itself to many things, the smell of sex and an unwelcome sense of guilt sticking in Ed's throat. He waits to see if he should apologize, if he needs to. But Oswald doesn't ask; so Ed doesn't offer. Just pulls until his cock sucks out of him, tipped with a bright spot of blood.

He looks to see if Oswald's noticed, readying himself to run damage control. Luck's on his side, thankfully.

Oswald's expression has settled into something weary and soft, transported - a look Ed's never seen outside of watching him sleep. A look completely at odds with his nakedness, too - and Ed finds himself counting the seconds until Oswald's sense of shame boomerangs hard. It's a little obscene, the spread of his legs and the slow oozing of come - his come - between them. His hole is swollen, twitching open and almost-closed, gaping at rest. Not quite _blown_ wide - it'd take a few hours of dedicated fucking, on and off, or something thicker than himself, Ed imagines - but tempting enough for Ed to want to tease a few fingers into his slippery, beckoning pinkness and feel the difference he's made. But he only smiles and looks Oswald over with admiring eyes, sure that Oswald's never looked more perfect to him than he does now, just the way he is. 

His head's still spinning when he lowers Oswald's legs and leaves them to hang over the edge of the desk, dropping back into his chair. Pleasure ripples through him in lazy waves and he rests, the sweat on his skin prickling, cooling, as he listens to their breathing even out.

Oswald moans, eventually, like a man waking with a hangover.

And when he does comes crawling out of someplace in his mind, stirring, Ed's ready for him, dressed and with a hand out for him to take, offered wordlessly. Oswald squints at it a moment before clasping it, letting Ed help him up. He sits on the edge of the desk a while blinking hazily at the floor, looking like he might just flop back and doze off right there. But he pushes off and touches down over the rug, quietly hitching up his briefs and dress pants tangled around his ankles. His belt jangles around in his hands.

He seems lost, unmoored, until he turns to meet Ed's eyes. He doesn't say anything. But the way he searches Ed's face with a look so achingly open, so blank, like the top of his world had been blown off, assures Ed that he's done something right.

He puts a hand on Oswald's shoulder, squeezing. "Shall we?" He smiles.

***

Oswald doesn't badger him into brushing his teeth or over laying on fresh sheets with stinking clothes on, which is nice. His indifference is as wonderful as it is destined to be short-lived. But Ed doesn't think too hard about it or about anything once he's slid his socks off and dropped bonelessly into bed, sighing his pleasure. He rolls onto his side, two small framed photos of Oswald's mom and dad on the night-table, in his line of sight. Olga had no doubt moved them in her dusting and Oswald turned them right back towards each other. As always.

He looks past them with a dim smile on his lips, watching Oswald blink at a chair like he's trying to figure out how to sit before he ends up putting his foot up on it, removing his leg brace and peeling away his socks one at a time. He works quickly - as much from embarrassment as from experience, Ed supposes.

"I'll get the light," Oswald announces when he has finished, limping over to the switch.

Then darkness falls over them, a thick, black sheet.

The mattress dips slightly under Oswald's weight. Ed feels his heat first, the hum of it against his skin, before his touch. His fingers are careful and seeking, brushing Ed's jaw, his sleeve; Ed murmurs at the rough wash of his breath on his neck. Oswald doesn't wait for him to pull him in or to try and makes a place for himself instead, chin bumping Ed's chest as he slings an arm around him and tucks into his body, warm and small.

Ed lies still, breathing.

Oswald's the first one to talk.

"I hope you realize that next time is my turn again."

Ed snorts. Feels a smirk tug at a corner of his mouth. "Does this mean you'll go twice as hard on me?"

"I haven't decided." Oswald admits after a pause, a clever smile leeching into his voice - a _Penguin_ smile that Ed can hear. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see." 

Ed likes that flicker of mischief in his voice, likes how it plays up his spine and lights up his mind. But Penguin isn't here to stay. This night - this moment - belongs to Oswald, and Ed's fine with that.

He feels the press of Oswald's nose and his lips over the cotton of his shirt, where his heart beats under his skin. It's soft, sexless. And as they lie there in the dark, Oswald leaning his head into his steady heartbeat, Ed begins to realize that this was all Oswald really wanted. A body to curl into, a port in the storm. 

To feel like more than the sum of his parts, maybe.

"...thank you," he mumbles into Ed's chest, relaxing.

Ed doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't know what Oswald's hoping he might say in turn. So he says nothing at all and just closes his eyes as his mind grows quiet and still. Drifting and gone before Oswald can thank him, can tell him how much he's loved.

**Author's Note:**

> (Yeah, yeah, I know I said I probably wouldn't write something like this, but life finds a way. I do hope it was worth your while. Thanks for checking it out, folks!)


End file.
